


Lost Scrolls

by 00Wandering_Ghost00



Series: Misadventures of Warden Graeme Amell and Company [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Tabletop RPG), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Tragedy, Attempt at Humor, Bad Romance, Deleted Scenes, Drabbles, Eventual Smut, Family Issues, Friendship, Mabari hounds, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Song-lyrics rewritten for fandom, lyrics, small ficlets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 12:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21320410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00Wandering_Ghost00/pseuds/00Wandering_Ghost00
Summary: Just a collection of random scenes and chapters that got deleted or discarded from my other DA fic titled "Another Warden's Fall". The works here are closely related to that one, and might not make any sense without knowing the context of the main fic, so I recommend reading that one first, or along with this one. Timeline inside the fic is not linear, one chapter might be in DA II and the next in Origins, because I upload/edit the whole of the main fic as I go, and that's how stuff ends up inisde this one... I hope it makes sense. ^^;Please pay attention to tags! Also, I always try to tag every chapter in the author's note, so read that as well to avoid any surprises.
Relationships: Female Surana & Jowan, Female Surana & Male Amell, Male Amell & Alistair, Male Amell/Anders (Dragon Age), Male Amell/Morrigan, Male Hawke & Male Amell, Male Tabris & Anders, Male Tabris/OFC, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: Misadventures of Warden Graeme Amell and Company [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537018





	1. Amell's Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might already met this fic out there, and feel disappointed and betrayed for having to read it again when it didn't make any sense before...  
I apologize, but as I already stated in the tags and summary, this whole work is nothing but a collection of drabbles and various scenes that didn't make the cut in my main fanfic. This particular scene was something that I felt unnecessary for the main story to go on, so it ended up here. Be prepared for a lot of similar cases, where it makes absolutely no sense unless you're familiar with the source. 
> 
> And of course, I cut it out because of the lyrics. The fic has enough of singing already.

_“There is a house in Kirkwall _

_They call the Rising Sun_

_And it’s been the ruin of many a poor soul_

_And Maker knows I’m one”_

Anders woke up hearing the tune, and finding the spot next to him empty. He smiled and sat up, looking at Amell cleaning the rickety table and putting vials and poultices neatly on top of the shelves. His voice was off-key sometimes, but this didn’t change the endearing scene. He flashed a smile at Anders, as he got up and leaned to the dirty wall, but never stopped the singing.

_“If I’d listen to my mother_

_Lord, I’d be home today_

_But I met a handsome apostate_

_His ways led me astray”_

None of the bedridden patients seemed to mind Amell’s singing, some even turned out to know the song from somewhere and hummed along if their condition allowed. Anders shook his head again and dressed up properly before joining Amell with making potions and poultices and checking on the patients. The song went on as his eyes glanced over his meagre belongings, and the new black coat he got recently.

_“Now the only thing an apostate needs_

_Is a suitcase and a trunk_

_And the only time he’s satisfied_

_Is when he’s on the run”_

Anders remembered the verse from a long time ago. He heard the song for the first time somewhere around during the Blight, while he stayed in Highever. Now with all he had behind him, he felt the words hit closer to home as ever. Justice didn’t know what to make of the words, and felt more confused by Anders’ melancholy and revelation. Yet the next verse came to his lips like he was training for this day to sing them.

_“He fills his veins with lyrium_

_And takes his pain to town_

_Only pleasure he gets out of life_

_Is bringing a Templar down…”_

_“He’s got one foot on the stairwell_

_The other in the drain_

_He’s taken to the Gallows_

_To wear that ball and chain”_

Both Anders and Amell faltered with the song, as they remembered all the people they have lost. The mages from Starkhaven, who got recaptured and were either dead or Tranquil. Other members of the Underground, and their friends and family. Hanged for helping them. If they can help it, no mage will ever go to the Gallows again, to wear chains or the sunburst brand.

_“...Well mothers, tell your children_

_Never do what I have done_

_To shun the house in Kirkwall_

_They call the Rising Sun”_

The last notes of the song long dissipated into silence, but Anders was still thinking about it, and what it meant. No matter how old the song itself was, he felt like it was about him, conceited as it sounds. He treated wounds and healed diseases effectively as always, yet in the back of his mind, a plan began to form. He knew Amell will support him no matter what, but what he began to put together was too dangerous. He didn’t want to risk the life of the man he loved. Besides, everyone knew Amell for being the Hero of Ferelden, or at least the “other apostate healing folks in Darktown”. Even the nobility began to take notice after Hawke’s success and the two of them being seen together a lot lately. Then it struck him like a stray bolt of lightning from a Tempest spell… Hawke.

Amell was someone who would support and help him in whatever madness he planned. But right now, Anders needed someone else. Someone who would tell him if he disagreed. Someone who would even stop him. Someone who would not be put to blame for what’s to come. He didn’t even notice himself humming, only when he felt the eyes of a few of his patients on himself. He inhaled and thought he might just sing loudly.

_“Well there is a house in Kirkwall _

_They call the Rising Sun_

_And it’s been the ruin of many a poor soul_

_And Maker knows I’m one”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thank you very much for reading, stay tuned, and please don't forget to push the heart-shaped button if you liked it. :)


	2. Blood and Brandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A portion of "Another Warden's Fall" which got deleted. See reasons under "Notes" at the end. 
> 
> Please note that the fragmenty-nature of this is due to an abandoned plotline, and that said plotline is cut out from the main fic, hence it's slight incoherence.
> 
> Warning: Violence, coarse language, drinking and being drunk, confessions while being drunk, dubious consent.

That was it. He knew. Out of mana, of lyrium potions, out in the middle of a Maker-forsaken marsh, surrounded by darkspawn. Amell smiled grimly. After all, it was a fitting end for a Grey Warden. He looked around quickly, but saw no sign of his companions, he assumed they are busy eliminating their own batch of the wretched, grub-like monstrosities crawling everywhere. He swung his longsword, severed an insect-like leg from one of the childer, and retreated from the remainder of the horde. He was out of his luck as well, for a few hurlocks joined their brethren, probably hearing the commotion they made. Despite his thorough training with swords, Amell wasn’t a warrior.

He felt his strength waning, as he kept on slashing and stabbing the darkspawn. A Hurlock alpha leapt at him, embedding its axe in his left side. Amell felt as his ribs broke to pieces and the edge of the axe hit something vital. He spat blood and stumbled backwards. His vision blurred, but he made one last attempt at hitting the monster. He succeeded, impaling the Hurlock’s head on his sword, but his legs gave in and he fell on his back, the dead darkspawn on top of him. His blood mixed with the ichor of the Hurlock and the murky water of the swamp. Amell coughed, and felt his airways getting flooded with blood. It won’t be long now… He thought back of the last time he was so close to dying. This time Alistair wasn’t here to shield him from further harm. Flemeth wasn’t here to drag them away for some unknown reason.

Red foam streamed down from his lips to the ground, and he fought to keep his eyes open. He saw someone standing next to him, and forced his head to turn, so he could see. It was Anders, but he wasn’t wearing his Warden uniform, but one of those Tevinter styled robes he so loved. He also looked a bit younger. He smiled at Amell and kneeled down next to him. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” did his voice echo, or was it only Amell’s slowly dying brain messing with him? “I love you.” He wanted to say, but only some unintelligible gurgle came out. Anders – or rather, this vision that resembled him – leaned down and kissed his forehead. Amell lost consciousness.

He woke up to a multitude of dwarven curses and a weight getting off of his chest. He opened his eyes. “He’s alive!” Amell heard Nathaniel’s voice, and his field of vision was occupied by the face of an angry red dwarf. “The fuck you were thinking, running off like that, huh?” Amell was too weak to do anything else but smirk. “First rule of combat, mages go to the back row, not the front!” Oghren kept on grumbling “Sodding nughumper, knows how to swing a butterknife and he thinks he’s as good as a fighter…” Amell’s grin widened. “I love you too, Oghren.” The dwarf made a disgusted noise. “Argh, and there goes my breakfast.” he finally made way to the rest of the company. Nathaniel and Sigrun moved the carcass of the Hurlock alpha, and even Oghren hissed when he saw the ugly scar on Amell’s torso.

* * *

The hallway was quiet, and Anders almost chickened out in the end, but he stopped in front of Amell’s door, and knocked. A long silence, and some heavy footsteps later the door opened, and Amell appeared in the doorway. He was stripped down to his trousers, his hair loose and brushing beneath his shoulders, and held a bottle of a certain brand of Antivan brandy in his hand. He also raised one brow seeing Anders in front of his door. “May I come in?” the blond asked, and got a shrug and a small space to enter as response. “So, care to explain what the void is going on?” Anders asked while Amell slammed the door behind them. The other man didn’t answer, just plopped down on the loveseat in front of the fireplace, and hid his face in his palms. “All right. Silent treatment. Very effective in solving problems.” Anders quipped and sat beside Amell. “And since when do you like spirits?” Amell cast a disapproving icy glance at him, but finally deigned to speak. “I’m a spirit healer as well.” Anders scoffed and pointed at the bottle of brandy. Amell followed his hand with his gaze and chuckled. “Oh, you mean this? Blame it on Oghren. Or Zevran. Or both.” They sat in silence, Amell offered his bottle to Anders, who accepted it and took a swig. After a long pause, Amell gathered his strength and turned back to Anders. “I wanted to thank you.” The older man shrugged. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’d do it without as much as batting an eyelid again.” Amell felt tears welling up in his eyes but Anders didn’t look at him while he kept on speaking. “I love you. I was afraid to admit it, but when I saw you lying under that dead Hurlock in a pool of your own blood, light slowly dimming in your eyes, I thought…” Anders swallowed the knot in his throat. “I thought I missed my last chance to say it. To let you know…” he was cut off abruptly by Amell pulling him into an embrace and kissing him so hard he tasted blood on his tongue. Blood and brandy. Amell unbuckled Anders’ tabard and shoulder-piece, throwing them behind the loveseat they occupied while Anders unlaced Amell’s trousers which seemed to become a bit tighter thanks to their elaborate tongue-fight. Gloves and undertunic soon followed the rest of the clothes gathered into a pile on the floor. Anders began to push Amell onto his back, when he was halted by his lover’s hand on his chest and a “wait” whispered into his mouth. “I want to switch places.” Amell stated as confidently as he could in his state. Anders raised a brow. “Are you sure?” he caressed the younger man’s back and stayed on his spot. Amell let out a very low laughter, barely different from heaving a sigh. “I’m not sure about anything, love. But I want it with you. Besides, it is only fair after all the time you let me have my way…” Anders pulled him back to sitting position but didn’t let go. “Amell… I don’t mind being the bottom all the time. And I don’t want you to do something you might regret.” Amell swallowed a knot in his throat and glanced at the bottle of brandy next to him on the floor. Anders followed his gaze and shook his head. “Besides, you’re drunk. I’m not even sure if we should…” Amell put a finger on his mouth. “I’m not _that_ drunk, Anders. And I will not regret anything, not tomorrow, not a week or a year later. Please, let me give something back to you after taking so much.” Anders shook his head. “I don’t know… This is really screwed up in many ways. I don’t want to hurt you.” Amell let go of him and took the bottle. “Then get out.”

Anders ran his hand through his hair. “Graeme…” the rarely used first name sounded alien to him. “I know there is something wrong. We can talk about it, you don’t have to do this…” Amell took another swig from the bottle emptying it in one go, and put it on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. “I don’t want to talk, Anders.” his speech wasn’t slurry, but his voice sounded hoarse and tired. “I don’t want to fight either. If you don’t want me right now, or ever again, that’s fine too. I just want my demons to finally stop haunting me.” Anders stood up with a sigh. Amell’s demons were part of his decision to disengage their kissing-session before it would turn into something more, and they played a big part in why he refused to take Amell’s offer. He stepped over to the younger man and wrapped his arms around him, kissing Amell’s cheek. “We can do it if you want. Later, when you’re sober.” He planted another little peck on the younger man’s ashen hair. “I know I couldn’t go through with it if I’m sober.” Amell replied. “I wouldn’t be able to shut these memories away, and I would break down. Frankly, I can barely focus when we’re together, I have to keep reminding myself that it’s really you, and I’m not imagining it while being bent over someone’s desk and…” he trailed off and turned his face from Anders’. “Then maybe it would be wiser not to push this. And believe me if I say something like that, then the situation must be something majorly fucked-up. You know me, I don’t shy away from many things.” Amell shook his head slowly. “Why now? Why of all the times you choose now to ‘do the right thing’?” Anders was getting angry. He grabbed Amell’s arms and turned him around to be face-to-face. “Because I love you, you bloody idiot! Andraste’s flaming knickers, which part of “I don’t want to hurt you” you don’t understand? Or more precisely, what sort of twisted, sick, masochistic piece of shit of an argument was this you came up with?” Amell’s gaze pierced into Anders’, and he broke free from his lover’s hold. “I don’t know. I’m damaged goods I guess.” Anders let out an irritated noise. “Now you’re just being a petulant buffoon.” “Oh, sorry for taking away your privilege. You may run now. Leave me like you always did…” Amell’s indifferent voice had an undertone of bitterness and petty spite. And no matter how convinced Anders was that it is only the ridiculous amount of alcohol speaking and not his lover, the words stung. “Yes, right. Sorry for putting my self-preservation over your silent pining.” Anders threw his hands in the air and headed towards the door, stopping only after he opened it. “And you know what? Screw yourself!” with that he departed and the door slammed behind him. Amell sank down to the floor and began to sob.

Anders found Ser Pounce-a-Lot in the courtyard and took the cat with him to the remote corner of the garden, where even the old elf tending to the plants wouldn’t find him. He needed air, just as much as he needed distance from Amell and the rest of their company. A small voice in the back of his head told him that it was time to move on, but he smothered it. He leaned to the wall, looking up at the sky while stroking Ser Pounce’s fur, feeling the warmth of the little animal creeping into him. A chilly gust of wind reminded him that he’s running around half-naked in the middle of winter, making the skin on his upper body turn into goosebumps. “I’m such an idiot, Ser Pounce…” he sighed. “I should really learn not to jump at the smallest bait. Life would be so much easier…” he scratched the cat’s head behind its ear. The clanking of an armour caught his attention and he saw Justice standing not too far from his spot, with a book in hand. “I did not mean to interrupt you.” the spirit stated. Thankfully he didn’t remove his helmet for reading. A several months old corpse was the last thing Anders needed to see right now. “You didn’t interrupt anything.” he shrugged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All righty, Notes:
> 
> \- Sorry for the huge skip, the two scenes supposed to have days between them. 
> 
> \- The reason for discarding this plot is that it adds waaaay too much unnecessary drama, and originally had a part of it, where Amell confesses being revived and possibly possessed by a spirit as well. After Wynne and Anders, this plot device is unnecessary and repetitive. Fight me. 
> 
> \- Also, I saw a scene very similar to the one where Amell wakes up to a cursing Oghren in another fic, which is sadly older than mine, and want to avoid plagiarism charges. It's here though, for you to have fun reading it. I hereby post a disclaimer that any similarities with any other fanfics you came across and any content herein is merely a coincidence. 
> 
> \- I can't write sexy-times even if my life depends on it. It also still makes me very uncomfortable.


End file.
